It's Kili time...

Kilimanjaro, where to begin? I guess at the base of the mountain. My fellow education volunteer Marshall, his friends from Americaland Zaki and Matthias, two guides, eight porters, and I began at 5900ft at the Machame Gate. At that elevation we were in the rain forest, and by rain forest I mean monkeys were swinging from trees. First day, a four or five hour hike up to camp 1 at 10,200ft. A nice introduction into what was in store. We were excited, anticipating a glorious walk in the wilderness, but 30 minutes into day 1 we were saying to ourselves, "Damn, the mountain is not going move for us." Needless to say, we reached camp 1 in stride and in good spirits. Then the sun went down. I tried to relax in some flip flops knowing that we were only going higher and it was only going to get colder, but that idea lasted only a few minutes. To go from moving in the sun to not moving in the dark made for the first of many cold nights, and then mornings. With that being said, our porters were carrying our food, tents, and preparing our breakfast and dinner. Dinner began with soup and breakfast began with porridge, pretty much the best two things you could ever eat given the circumstances. Forget the spoon, hold that bowl in your hands and hope you don't burn your tongue, but I did, every morning and evening. We would then eat some eggs and toast or for dinner some rice or noodles with a tomato sauce/stew, pretty much the second best thing you've ever eaten given the circumstances.

Day 2. Climb up to 12,500ft. Again, about a five hour hike, except now we were in the moorland, rocks, and shrubs. A pretty steep incline, but not too long of a day. Cold night.

Day 3. Acclimatization day. We hiked up to 15,100ft where we had lunch and "acclimated" for a few minutes, and then we went further around the mountain and down to 12,800ft to camp 4. All that took about eight or nine hours of hiking, the last two hours being in a moonlike landscape with some sporadic cactus like trees. The fact that we were in a cloud added to the aura of the terrain. Should the guides have handed us spacesuits we all would have looked at each other and nodded our heads in unison and agreement that this was the proper attire, and then we would have proceeded to put on the spacesuits. We camped that night in the cloud, not too clear of our surroundings, and woke up the next morning (feeling cold) surrounded by cliffs to three sides and a lookout to land far below to the fourth side.

Day 4-5. This day would, in essence, not end for 36 hours. We hiked from 12,800ft, beginning about 8 a.m., up to 15,300ft, finishing a little after 5 p.m.. We then ate dinner around 7 p.m. and got the run down of summit day from our guide. We then headed to our tents where I proceeded to put on every article of clothing I brought because I was freezing and would be waking up in three hours to begin the summit push of 19,341ft, and the warmer I felt when I woke up, the more likely I was to get out of my tent. So, with two long sleeve shirts, a fleece jacket, a rain jacket, long underwear, hiking pants, rain pants, gloves, and a thieves mask, I woke up, had some biscuits and tea, and by midnight we were off. We were told it would be about six hours until we reached the first summit. So, for about five and a half hours, we stared at the lights from our head lamps and went up. With no concept of time, I began becoming very upset with the sun for not showing knowing that as soon as I could see the horizon we would be close. We got about half way and then the fun began. We began stumbling a little more than usual, our water breaks turned into face plants into the ground, and Zaki began vomiting. One of our two guides stayed back with Zaki and the other continued with Marshall, Matthias, and me up the mountain, slowly. In retaliation to the lack of oxygen, I tried singing every damn inspirational song I could think of. Whitney, Groban, Celine, Elton, Bette Midler, all made an appearance on the mountain that day. And sure enough, "certain as the sun rising in the east" (Beauty and the Beast lyric, pun intended and sung), a horizon began to appear, and if that wasn't the most beautiful sunrise I've ever seen, then another one was. And sure enough, we were damn near the top, and now being able to see it we had a little more assurance that it existed. We were on cruise control then, and by cruise control I mean we took a few steps, stopped, tried not to fall over, and then did that all over again. So about 6 a.m. we reached the first summit where it was just then a little under an hour to the official highest point in Africa. We reached that (no big deal), took some pics, and the headed down. Before long, we ran into Zaki where he said he somehow reached the first summit (you still get a certificate for reaching the first summit, so mission accomplished). He of course was still vomiting, but improving the lower we descended. We got back to the 15,300ft camp around 11 a.m. or 12 p.m., ate lunch, took a nap, and then headed to our last camp at 9,840ft. We arrived there just after dark feeling a little tired for some reason, but we had to play "Bones." Every night throughout our trip we'd been playing a continuous game of Dominoes with the winner at the end of the trip getting free dinner and drinks. We made a rule that you'd get 15 points if you vomited on the mountain. Zaki that night made an unprecedented comeback.

Day 6. A three hour stroll to the exit where we were met by our bus and four frosty brews (actually, we had the bus wait while we went to the nearest "pub" to cheers our survival of the mountain). The beverage of choice just so happened to be called "Kilimanjaro."

Visualisation

A new batch of RED (Rural Education Development) volunteers have arrived in Zambia, and like me, they are spending 11 weeks training before being posted to their site. Peace Corps has asked me to help with one of the weeks of their training. There were a number of standard topics that I helped facilitate, but the topic I felt most neglected and most important was the understanding and intertwining of two different cultures. So, I created a little visualization to help remind us that we are not dealing with problems, we are dealing with people, different people, different people with a different past, and the more we understand the past, ours and theirs, the better we can work together.

A visualisation...

Boom. You're born. You're cold. You're hungry. The lights are bright. You're lucky, you're alive, but your mother is not. You're held by your grandmother. Your father is at the mines working. Your grandmother holds you. You cry, but there is no breast to comfort you. The unexpected change of events have left your aunts scurrying for food to give a newborn. Your grandmother holds you. Yesteryear's way, last generation's lessons will be instilled upon you. Your older brothers and older sisters will help carry you. You can walk now, and you're old enough to begin Grade 1 at your school. It's a long walk, but you're excited, you get to escape the monotony of your daily chores and see exactly what your older siblings sometimes tend to. You make the long walk. You arrive. You are told to sweep. The school must look proper. You must have an appropriate environment to learn in before the learning takes place. You come, you clean, you mainly play with your friends. You chase one another around a tree. A week goes by and your teacher arrives. You pile in the classroom, but you get stuck in the back of the line so you sit on the floor because the desks are full. Class begins at 0800 hours, but you don't know that. You just enter the classroom when the teacher tells you. You don't know that you were supposed to begin an hour ago, nonetheless care. Things begin when people arrive, more so the teacher. Your class begins with a song, one you already know because you remember your siblings singing it in the evenings as they cooked you dinner. You then begin repeating sounds as your teacher points to different shaped lines on a chalk board. Next you begin to group different objects together and the count them. It is fairly easy except when there are many objects to count. The class then was over and it was back to running around the tree before returning home to change out of your school clothes and into clothes that were and could become dirty. Evening comes and goes and a new day falls upon you. It's time to pick the maize from the field your family has been working in. You are not strong enough to use the hoe, but have no problem plucking the maize from the stalk. You had a poor harvest last year. You have been eating only dinner the last month or so as you have been waiting for this year's harvest to mature. So you pick, curious as to how long this year's crop will last. Regardless, you pick, accepting the fate of the Gods, the sun, the rain. You return to school some days later. No one told you to go, no one told you not to. There is no more maize to pick, so you return to school. Your teacher is out. Another teacher writes an assignment on the board to occupy your time. You don't understand what is written, but write it in your book as you see it written on the chalk board. This again happens the next day and the following day after. Your teacher arrives again. You sing songs, you count, you try to read but the concept has not made sense to you yet. You want it to, but find yourself soon chasing your friends around the tree again. Later that evening, you begin to sweat uncontrollably and become very cold even though there is no chill in the air. You begin shivering uncontrollably and your head, neck, and back ache and stiffen like a board. You lay still for a couple days, mustering up whatever energy you have left to get you to and from the hole in the ground you use for a toilet. There is luckily medicine at the clinic, so your symptoms only last two or three days, but, as such is the life of a mosquito, the illness will be back at least another half a dozen times that year. You recover, you head back to school. You sing some more songs, and then the term ends. Life like this goes on for a few more years. With each year passing, your responsibilities at home grow more and more. But if you forget to bath or fetch water, you no longer will cry when your sisters hit you with a switch. Therefore, they have given up on using a switch. They may yell at you, but you have developed an outer shell that protects you from their words. Then one day you wake up and notice there is blood on your Grandmother's pillow. You noticed a bit of a cough from her a few weeks ago, but neither of you acknowledge it's there. Now you ask her but she does not reply. The cough develops and soon you have to stay home from school to help take care of her, though there's not much you can do. It is more of a formality that her ailment and well being are more important than the knowledge that a teacher could impart on you. Months go by and the condition persists. No medicine at the clinic can remotely relieve the cough. A hospital is out of the question. Your Grandmother is elderly and life is taking its course. Then one day your Grandmother does not wake. There is a funeral. You, your brothers, and your sisters cry uncontrollably as neighbors sing outside your home, trying to drown the cries into song, trying to sway your minds elsewhere where your grandmother no longer is. It has been decided that you and your siblings will go to live with your uncle on the other side of Zambia. You pack your things, get on a bus, and head away from your village for the first time. From the bus window, you end up seeing things you heard about but never really understood. You come upon a city where you can count more cars parked than you had seen in your entire lifetime. You see buildings that could house your entire village. You see water coming out of boreholes that require no pumping. You see lights, radios, and televisions on, but see no car battery that they are connected to. You see people eating food, but no fire from where it must have been cooked. You're very confused, very excited, very scared. You are calmed once you leave the city and find yourself again amongst recognizable houses made of the surroundings they sit in. You eventually arrive at the house where your uncle lives, and you and your siblings pile your things in one bed room along with your cousins things. Your uncle is a teacher, so this house has more than one room, and a roof made of metal. It is the middle of the school term so you find yourself at school the next day wearing a uniform with the wrong colors. You feel out of place without a tree to chase your friends around. You want to go home but your cousins are in school too so home would be just as lonely. Time passes and you and your cousins become more used to each other. They become friends. They become your smart friends. You and one cousin are both in grade five together, but you notice that he is able to read, write, add, and even multiply with ease. This has an unsettling effect on you and you soon notice that this knowledge your cousin has is a common theme amongst all the children of the teachers at your school. You feel out of place living where you are under a metal roof and not being able to answer questions in the classroom. You have no option but to try harder. You find yourself looking for books that you can understand in the grade two classroom long after the classroom is empty from class. You find yourself adding and subtracting problems that you write for yourself. You want to belong, you want to fit in, so you study. Two years pass and after much anxiety, you get your grade 7 exam results back and soon find yourself sitting in an eighth grade classroom. Your uncle is the grade eight and nine science teacher so it would be unheard of even so much as disrespectful for you not to pass ninth grade, which you do in your first try of taking the exams. Your cousin passes too, and since your uncle has a salary, he has no option to but to send the two of you to high school together. There, away from family, the two of you rely on one another for support. You study together, eat together, work together. Your combined force allow you to excel in school and the next thing you know you both have a grade 12 degree. You head back to to your cousin's and uncle's house where you quickly settle back into village life. You work in your uncle's fields during the day and hang with your friends at the market in the evening. This goes on for a few years. It is the way of life, the way things happen. You don't think twice about what the next day will bring. You are comfortable, amongst friends and familiarity. You have your eye on a significant other and of course marriage crosses your mind. You're ready for your own house and to move out of your uncle's shadow. Then one day your uncle comes to you and says the Ministry of Education is offering scholarships and because you're an orphan you can qualify to go to teacher's school. You don't mind your way of life, but your uncle gives you no option but to take the scholarship. You, the significant other, and your cousin must part ways. Your friends, family, and village all remain while you go away to become a teacher. And that you become.

December '10

So, before Americaland, I finished up teaching at Rfunsa Basic. The teachers threw a little "going away" party for me and we drank real beer that was actually cold, carbonated, and served in a bottle. It was a big deal. As a gift, they gave me a collared shirt that said Rfunsa Basic on it. That was enough to make me feel my service complete. I felt accomplished. The stipulation was that I had to go into the other classroom and put it on and upon returning, dance to the music we had playing from a small stereo. Let's just say we all had a good laugh. My hips are more attached to my waist than any other Zambian.

After the school term, me and 3 other volunteers each took 3 girls and 1 teacher (24 total) from our villages to a week long girls empowerment camp, Camp GLOW (Girls Leading Our World). We applied for a grant from USAID that gave us the financing to pay for food, lodging, and transportation in Southern Zambia at Lake Kariba. A friend of a Peace Corps staff member owned the lodge and gave us a substantial discount so we could afford the destination. The planning began back in June '10. The days consisted of morning discussions on topics such as HIV/AIDS, rape and sexual assault, assertiveness, and sugar-daddies. The afternoons consisted of arts and crafts and games. I began the workshop with a self-esteem building presentation. I asked the girls who they thought the most important person in the world is. They replied the president, the chief, their mother, their father. I then passed around a folder with the words "The most important person in the world" written on it. One by one they opened it and inside they found a mirror. They were all surprised and shied away at the site, but quickly got the message that we are all equal and all the most important person. It was a fun way to begin. Minutes after giving my presentation, I became very weak and began to shiver. I went and laid down and soon my back and neck became very stiff and a monstrous headache set in. My temperature became 103. I called medical and they said start taking your Coartem, you probably have Malaria. So, aside from feeling like death for a couple of days, the camp was a great success. The girls got to learn how to use a shower and a toilet, they went on their first boat ride, and they got to eat food that was prepared for them.

A new batch of education volunteers arrived a week ago and 3 of them got to spend 3 days with me to become acquainted with Zambian life and the Zambian school system. We had a great time and all seemed excited to get the training process over with so they too could begin living the dream. Ironically, again, the morning they were to be picked up and taken back to the training site, I woke up with a temperature, my stomach was not cooperating, and I had the energy of something with no energy. Medical told me to come in with the cruiser that was picking up the new volunteers. After breaking out into profusive sweats and nearly losing consciousness, I arrived at medical and once again began taking Coartem, the Malaria medicine. I was down and out for the last few days, but you can't keep a good man down, and you can't keep me down either. I just took my last few pills and will be heading back to site this afternoon or tomorrow morning. Funny as it may sound, and I say this now that I feel better, this is why I signed up. There is something to be said for feeling a sickness of the world (more people die every year of Malaria than any other reason in Zambia), staring it in the eye, and falling upon a new understanding, an understanding of what others feel in times of sickness, and an understanding of what it feels like to be healthy, again.

It's rainy season so the caterpillars are out which means protein for dinner. Picture one is Lamba, Vuca, and Chiza getting the caterpillars ready to fry. The other picture is of all of us at Camp Glow. I'm the tallest one with a green shirt in the back.

Welcome back

Welcome back to Zambia. Yes, welcome back. I went to America and now I'm back. I'm back in the hut, back in the heat, back in the sweat, back in nature. I had a wonderful stay in Americaland and it surprisingly did not go by as fast as I thought it would, but, I told myself before I came that I didn't want it to, and it worked. I, being my usual self, put off all the people I wanted to contact and all the things I wanted to do for my return until the last day, so I didn't call half the people I wanted to and didn't get my ipod ready for another year and a half of Africa, etc. Oh well, Celine and I are still on excellent terms. Like I may have mentioned before, living in the village is not difficult, it is the day or two (give or take a week) that you return to it that are. So, I was not looking forward to leaving a roof that didn't leak, a toilet that existed, and a sleep uninterrupted by the flight of bats. So be it. I left America on a Wednesday, literally travelled as fast as I could (missed a connection), and arrived in my village on Saturday. I swept all the rat and bat poop off my floor, fetched water at the well, got my books in order, and was ready for the first day of school on Monday. I arrived at school a little before 7a.m. knowing that nothing really happens the first week except the sweeping of classrooms and the slashing of grass (there are no lawn mowers). I was quickly notified that a 7th grade student had passed away the day before due to Malaria and the funeral was now, let's go. I hadn't yet been to a Zambian funeral, but it is common in the village to attend even if you are not close with the family. After following two fellow teachers, Mr. Bambala and Mr. Mwaba, through the bush for 20 minutes or so we came to a house (hut) that many women were sitting around and a short distance off the house were all the men. Inside the house I could hear women wailing, a long and somber cry. After a few minutes and a lot of greetings, all the men proceeded to the house. A few entered and then exited with a casket on their shoulders. So began the procession to the burial ground. A long single file line of about a hundred people or so followed the casket into the bush for another 20 minute journey. During the walk, the family wailed, but as they did they and others also sang. The song sounded as such that it was difficult to distinguish between the crying and the singing. It was somehow beautiful to me, definitely unlike anything I have ever heard. I remember waking up that morning waking up that morning thinking to myself that it is very possible to be elsewhere, but there and then all I could think to myself was how could I imagine being anywhere else. That moment, that place, that experience, that feeling. The casket was buried, words were said, there was a meal, and then it was back to the market, field, or school where life continued on. I'm back.

Dear Grandma,

Dear Grandma,
I was informed of Grandpa's death a few days ago. I feel the best way for me to deal with the situation is to write you this letter. I have been trying to write more, but find that I am only inspired to do so when I am not feeling up to par, the writing being my counselor. Upon hearing the news I must admit I was not shocked, but rather you, my dad, and Uncle Terry were the first things to pop into my mind. I was riding my bike to Rfunsa, a nearby village, to teach some Math when Eric called me with the news. He told me how my Dad had got to have a nice conversation with Grandpa just the day before. This above all things was what brought tears to my eyes. Imagining that conversation I can only think of how pure and how rich life was at that moment. It's unfortunate, or maybe fortunate, that it takes death or near death experiences to achieve those moments. I believe my tears were not of sadness, but of gratitude that such moments can and do exist.
Thinking back on all the memories I have of Grandpa, I feel very blessed to have so many. I know that some people live with or near their Grandparents, some don't have any at all, but I was given the situation that when I visited you and Grandpa, it was always an event, and a spectacular one for that matter. I remember going fishing, even though it wasn't fishing season, with Grandpa and my Dad up in Canada on "the boat." I might as well had been on a cruise line because the food, entertainment, and hospitality was impeccable. Grandpa had all his stories of wrecking or almost wrecking the boat and I had enough food for a small army. Grandpa made me feel like I was the most talented and important person on the earth. I couldn't help but smile, giggle, and eat the entire trip.
Of course there is the famous peanut butter and jelly sandwich story. This is still of no memory to me, but Grandpa's retelling of the story will forever live on. I ate half of my sandwich and was probably full so I left it on your table and went to play. Grandpa asked if I was done eating and I said yes. What I should have said was that yes I was done but don't eat my sandwich because when I came back and found it gone I apparently threw the biggest fit. Grandpa's version of this story, not the story itself, is what makes it so great, his laughing as he told it.
I think of all things I will remember Grandpa for his love of children. Being here in Zambia, there is a lot of emphasis put on sustainability. Will our efforts last after we have left? When broken down, I think if you've made a child smile and feel good about him or herself, that's about as sustainable as you can get. This is what I saw Grandpa do best. This is what I will try to carry on. As you know, Grandpa could make children smile, especially the little ones, and they could make him smile. Even when his memory had begun to slip you knew that he wouldn't forget that you were to smile at a child. It's as though it was embedded in his DNA, memory not necessary. So, as I sit here in the middle of nowhere wondering sometimes whether I am wasting my time. I know that because Grandpa made me feel special and because he made me smile, I am able to smile that much easier today. And if he was able to do that for me, I know I should try and do that for others knowing that a smile never fades but merely reappears further down the road. There is no waste of time in that effort.
Now I know that you know all of what I have told you in a much deeper context, something in which I am envious of. I also know there was a lot I didn't know. When I think of this, I think of what Ann told my Dad one day. She said that he may not always be a nice man, but he is always a good man. I know my Dad took this to heart. While I think that Grandpa was always nice, I know that he was a Rogers which means that people may not have always seen the niceness, but I think that those that knew him always saw the goodness.
You, Grandma, somehow managed to remain both nice and good, even in the midst of Grandpa being a pain in the butt. As we learned in Tuesdays With Morrie, it is better to tell you this now rather than 50 years from now when you may not be around. Your grace and sweet disposition gives everyone a sense of peace and balance. Because of this, I know Grandpa was a better person. I remember Grandpa driving you and I in the middle of New York City after watching a taping of Spin City. We were trying to leave the city and managed to drive in one direction for an hour only to find ourselves back at the hotel where we started. Grandpa was telling me his dream of buying an old beat up car and going on a rampage through NYC hitting anything that did or did not get in his way. You were saying that it was a beautiful day and that it was great for me to see more of the city. I think I concluded that I would like tour NYC in an old beat up car, ramming anything in the way, a wonderful combination.
We all have a place in this world. I strongly believe that my place is no more or less important than the man begging for change on the street corner. We are derivatives of our parents, and our parents of their parents, and so forth. I wrote this letter on November 14th but concluding it today, the day of Thanksgiving, I am thankful that my Dad had Grandpa as a father and you, Grandma, as a mother.
I love you,
Grant
p.s. Can someone print this and give it to Grandma? Thanks.

Ironic? Maybe something more?

The creek which is dry now still still has some standing water in one puddle of an area, the area we just so happen to walk by many times a day. There is a log to walk across when the water is full and/or running. I'm not sure if it runs but I will soon find out. The log has been pushed aside and you can walk through the dip in the earth from one side to the other on hard, dry dirt. There is still a large puddle or smal pond a foot or two deep bordering the walking dip path. As it may be a stream, there is a step on each side of the dip to go down and then back up when walking. I ride my bike my bike everywhere and have become accustomed to getting off my bike and carrying it on the log and then resuming riding. The same held true when the log was pushed aside, as the steps into and out of the dry creek bed were a bit much for a casual stroll. I did however venture oned day through the bed without getting off the bike, feeling a bit tired to wheip my leg over the rear of the bike to get off. With a bit of a thud ont he way down and a little peel of the tire on dirt on the way up, I made it through without much fuss. That of course was the easy direction of travel, as the lip into the stream on the way down was sharp, but on a bike is just a thump. The lip on the way up is more gradual and therefore not much of a feat for a mountain biker. So, again, feeling lazy or moreso efficient, I thought I'd try to conquer the feat going in the other direction. I was riding back from teaching in Rfunsa, so that meant I had my teaching clothes on, whcih is surprisingly more casual than my Zambian counterparts, a polo, and dress slacks, and dress shoes. I had my book bag nicely placed in a basket I attached to the back of my bike rack, a little contraption I am quite proud to have made as now I don't have to wear the bag and show up to class with a sweaty back and bag. So, I hit the down slope with no problem, but knew I was gonna need some good momentum and a good lift on the handle bars to get up the other side. I did not get what I needed, but hey, no big deal, step off to the left, grab the bike, and walk up the lip. Not quite. I somehow did not process the the whole shift the weight to the left thing in time and ended up witha weight shift to the right, only to the right sat the pond. The step to the right was not at the ground level as the step to the left was, so I didn't get the luxury of stepping into the water and then out saying "darn, my shoe is wet." No, we are talking full body submersion. The mud in my pants and shirt was so bad that my Zambian family had to help me wash them as my hand washing abilities have not improved over time. My house is a few hundred meters from this puddleso I was still dripping mud and water when I arrived. All the kids were relaxing and I was glad to see a smile appear rather than a look of concern when I walked up to them because this all deserved a genuine stomach intitiated laugh. And that we did. Only the older ones understood my english, as I have not learned the Chinyanja words for crashing a bike into a pond yet, but the younger ones were able to comprehend with all the body language. The moral of the story however goes much deeper than pond. My sister, Colleen, sent me a text the next day to tell me there was a big storm and that she and her kids went puddle jumping after it passed. It wasn't till a few days later it dawned on me that we were all puddle jumping on the same day. Let me mind you there is only one puddle in Zambia that I know of. Ironic? Maybe something more?

One picture is of a future co-teacher in his hotel room at a co-teaching workshop. He asked me to take a picture of him in his room as he has never stayed in a hotel nonetheless a room with electricity, so in we went, off his shoes came, and on to the bed he jumped. I thought the pose was worthy of a posting. The other picture is of us upon completion of the work shop. We will be teaching Grade 8 and 9 maths (they say maths here) together starting in January at Chimusanya Basic.

Third term- 2010

Well, I am well underway into the third and final term of the school year. My assignment is to co-teach and that I was with the grade 8 and 9 math teacher at Rfunsa Basic, Mr. Mulenga, until he got shipped off to another school. So, I have had the privilege of teaching my own grade 8 and 9 math class for the last few weeks and have 2 or 3 more weeks to go until they take their exams. Co-teaching was fun, but having the class to myself is a blast and I am enjoying it while I can. The grade 9's take an exam to see if they qualify for high school, so I have backed out of lesson mode and am in review mode to prepare them. Review mode I am finding is actually re-teach mode. Who knows if I will be able to improve their scores, although I must admit I could knock out their test with flying colors. I forgot how good at math I was. It's a bit of a curse because multiplying by the inverse seems logical to me, but to have it make sense to them is another story. Regardless, it is easy to see that the math is not why I am in the classroom but rather to show them that you don't have to hit to punish a child for talking and you can praise an effort, even it is incorrect. Speaking of praise, the kids like to do claps for each other when they answer questions correctly (the younger grades actually), so I took the liberty of introducing my grade 8 and 9's to the Arsenio Hall Show clap, which if you don't know is woofing like a dog while pumping your fist in the air. They of course adapted it quickly, but the best part was hearing it in a class I wasn't teaching and also having the head teacher ask me the other day, "what is this dog barking the kids are doing in class?"

The roof to my hut needed replacing, and aside from the month it took to get bamboo and grass, it took another surprisingly 11 days to do the labor. My fellow volunteer neighbor (40 miles away) said she had it done in a day. Not sure what's up with my village, but I still couldn't help but relive the Shawshank Redemption movie moment where the prisoners are drinkin suds as they tar the prison roof. Now maybe we are prisoners of a system, prisoners of poverty, or prisoners of nothing, but the picture above shows us drinkin suds when the roof was finally done. "We sat and drank with the sun on our shoulders and felt like free men. Hell, we could have been tarring the roof of one of our own houses. We were the lords of all creation. As for Andy - he spent that break hunkered in the shade, a strange little smile on his face, watching us drink his beer." Note- we were drinking actual suds. Real beer is like champagne here, as they drink Chibuku which is made from maize, has no carbonation, and costs a quarter.

The other pictures are of the teacher's at Chimusanya Basic on World Teacher's Day BBQ'n some chicken, and the kids are some neighbors JB or Jebby (not sure which) and his sister Kausine.